The Boy Who Survived
by The 5 of Spades
Summary: Harry is a charming boy of many talents; painting, picking locks, making cheeky comments, and performing supernatural feats. His family... well, the word "family" didn't really fit. When Harry finds himself cut and pasted into a world he's never known, he makes the best of it. Who needs humility when you've had the first eleven years of your life to exist in shadow?


"Mr. Potter."

_Flup, choo._

"_Mr. Potter._"

_Flup, choo._

"Mr. Potter!"

Harry looked up from the single sheet of paper that he was balling up in preparation for his next shot to the trashcan. The teacher, Ms. Martin, stood in front of his desk with her arms folded. Harry sat up straight, mocking the correct posture for that of a good student with a signature cheeky grin.

"That's better," she said. "Now, your homework, please."

"I don't have it."

Ms. Martin stared down at him, her arms folding tighter as her patience thinned. "Mr. Potter, it's almost summer. You're a smart boy, but you don't seem to want to do _any _work at all," her voice went quieter and she leaned down, her expression softer. "If this is about what it's like at home, you can speak to counseling if you really feel like you need to."

Harry's cheeky expression melted, and he scowled. "I'm fine. I just don't have my homework."

"Alright," Ms. Martin gave up, moving to the next desk to collect homework. Harry continued to ball up his sheet of paper, and this time threw it up and caught it.

He didn't want to discuss his home-life with anyone, nor did he need to. He was doing perfectly fine on his own. The Dursleys were three people that he tried not to be meshed with on any circumstances; distance was the only way to stay safe. His cousin, Dudley, was a bullying arsehole, his uncle was an abusive son of a bitch, and his aunt was a horse-faced shrew with no gumption. He was sick of them all, and it was one of these days that he would run away for good.

The reason he hadn't done his homework was because he'd been spraying graffiti on a park bench and ended up getting caught. The police had dropped him on the front doorstep of Number 4 Privet Drive, and Uncle Vernon hadn't been too happy to have to wake up at three in the morning and answer for his delinquent nephew.

He rolled his left shoulder gingerly and winced. Needless to say, he hadn't been up to doing homework after that.

He sighed loudly and slouched in his chair, tapping his foot against the floor rhythmically. This was his last class of the day, and he wanted to finish the job he'd started on the park bench. A particular dream of his had had him up all night, and he needed to put it out of his mind for good.

After the last bell of the day sounded, he was the first one out of the door with his tattered bag. Inside, instead of school assignments, were numerous shades of neon green spray paint. He tightened the strings on the hood of his grey, hand-me-down hoodie and hurried down the steps of the school, completely ignoring dismissal procedures and heading out to find that park bench.

One would think that he would stop after the beating he'd got for doing this the last time, but the experience only taught him one thing: don't get caught.

In ten minutes, Harry was examining his park bench once more. He looked around carefully, making sure no cops were around, before taking out the brightest shade he had and shaking it. The clicking made him smile- it was one of his favorite sounds.

He stuck his tongue out of one corner of his mouth as he worked his magic. The Dursleys hated imagination and individual expression, and it was one of the reasons why Harry liked art enough to risk a beating for it. Anything to irritate those people. It also made him feel free; almost as if his thoughts and emotions could take him places that he could only dream of.

Green light blinded him in his dreams. Maybe if he put it on the bench, it would leave his dreams alone. He didn't like it as much as the flying motorcycle that he had put on the corner of the bench. The flying motorcycle was black, standing out amongst the sickly green.

He was done sooner than he thought, and was strangely sad to know that his escape had come to an end. He packed up his cans, shrugged on his knapsack, and bolted for somewhere else to hang around until he felt like going back "home". (Some days, he fell asleep outside and went back early in the morning to get fresh clothes and shower.)

The Dursleys, quite honestly, did nothing to stop his frequent outings despite the fact that he was far too young to be out on his own. He felt it was better that way. If they didn't let him leave, he would sneak out anyway, and that would earn unnecessary beatings. Uncle Vernon had eventually deduced him a lost cause and didn't care where he went, as long as he didn't cause any legal trouble for them.

He jogged home right after watching the sunset on the roof of a small bakery around the corner from Privet Drive, eagerly anticipating his Saturday. School was almost over, and although summer was making it increasingly more difficult to where his hoodie, he was ready for it to end.

…

"Up! Get up!" Aunt Petunia shrieked through the small door.

He flinched awake and glared at the door, tightening the tattered quilt around himself.

"Up!" she screeched.

Harry frowned and sat up. The green light still plagued his dreams—on regular occasions, the idea would have fled after being put out of his head. This dream was strange, and different- he knew that much.

He heard his aunt's footsteps approach again.

"Are you up yet?"

"No," Harry rolled his eyes. "Come back in fifteen minutes."

"Don't get smart with me, you delinquent!" she shrieked. "Get in the kitchen and watch the bacon! I want everything to be perfect for Duddy's birthday!"

Oh, right. His idiot cousin's birthday; how could he have possibly forgotten? He scoffed.

"What did you say?" she snapped. "Starting today, you'll be doing more around the house! And that's starting with _watching the bacon_! Now, go!" he could hear her steps clicking away madly, almost as if they were angry at him, too.

"_Starting today you'll be doing more around the house_," Harry imitated in a high-pitched voice. He dressed and went into the kitchen, not wanting a confrontation this early in the morning.

It took absolutely no effort at all to ignore Uncle Vernon's standard, barked greeting of, "Comb your hair!" and the pile of presents that were crowding around one side of the table. Dudley always got a mountain of things he didn't deserve.

His pudgy, spoiled cousin was counting his gifts. After Harry had put the bacon on the table, he grabbed his helping and began to eat. Dudley finished counting and his face twisted.

"Thirty-six!" he whined. "That's two less than last year!"

"Oh, _no_!" Harry gasped mockingly. "What did you _do _to deserve only _thirty-six _presents?"

"Shut your mouth, boy," Uncle Vernon snarled. "Before I shut it for you."

Harry rolled his eyes and sat back in chair to continue eating breakfast. Dudley wasn't done with his temper tantrum, however. His face turned an alarming shade of red and his fat fists were clenching and unclenching.

Aunt Petunia recognized the storm coming and rushed to say, "There's another under the big one, Duddy, see?"

"Alright, thirty-seven then!" he whined.

Harry wanted to barf. In fact, he made a gagging face and his uncle shot him another warning glance.

"And… we'll pick two more up in town today! How's that popkin?" Aunt Petunia asked. "Two more presents, is that okay?"

"Then I'll have thirty… thirty…"

"Thirty-nine, Dunder,"said Harry.

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.

Uncle Vernon ruffled Dudley's hair, completely ignoring Harry's slight. "Little tyke wants his money's worth! Attaboy, Dudley."

Dudley plopped back into his seat and picked up a parcel. The phone rang.

Aunt Petunia went to get it. Harry watched in disinterest as Dudley unwrapped his presents. A racing bike, a video camera, a remote-control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. Harry wondered if he should be worried about himself; he wasn't feeling the slightest bit of envy toward his cousin at all, and some of those presents were really expensive. Maybe childish things like _remote-control airplanes _didn't fascinate him as much as they would have if he'd been a normal ten-year-old instead. His musings came to a stop just as Dudley was unwrapping a golden wristwatch and Aunt Petunia came back. She looked angry… and somewhat worried. But mostly angry.

"Bad news, Vernon," said Aunt Petunia. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." She jerked her head in Harry's direction.

They often talked about him this way, as if he were a nasty slug on the floor rather than a person. Frankly, Harry didn't care. The feelings were mutual. He did, however, care a little about Mrs. Figg. The liking was only slightly dampened by the fact that the old cat lady made him look at her old cats every time the Dursley's forced him over. In this case, they had obviously been planning on sending him over so they could take Dudley and one of Dudley's friends somewhere fun without him there to "ruin everything".

"Is she alright?" Harry asked absently, feigning apathy. He really was mildly concerned.

Aunt Petunia ignored him; Harry grunted in irritation. "What do we do?"

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

Harry made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "Please, no. If you have souls, you won't send me over there."

He must not have been speaking loud enough, or maybe they were just ignoring his comments now.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."

"Thank you!" Harry exclaimed, gesturing wildly to his aunt. They still weren't paying him any attention.

"What about your friend, what's her name- Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," Aunt Petunia snapped. Harry quirked an eyebrow.

"You could just leave me here…" Their heads snapped around to look at him. The glares on their faces would have made a grown man cower, but Harry Potter was not cowed. "What?"

"And come back to find the house in ruins?" Aunt Petunia snarled.

Harry put his hands up in surrender. "You got me. I was going to leave the gas going on the oven," he said sarcastically.

His uncle growled, but Aunt Petunia's frustrated sigh drew his attention back to the situation at hand.

"I suppose we could take him to the zoo…" Aunt Petunia said slowly. "And leave him in the car…"

"That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone…"

Harry should have been offended by the things they were saying, but he felt like laughing more than anything. Most of the implied accusations were things he might well have done. _Thanks, guys, _he thought. _New ideas for the troubled child._

Dudley began to cry loudly. Actually, he wasn't really crying; it had been years since Dudley had actually cried. But if he screwed up his face and managed to produce a few crocodile tears, his parents gave him anything he wanted.

"Oh, Dinky Duddyums!" Aunt Petunia cried, flinging her arms around him. "Don't cry! Mummy won't let him ruin your special day!"

"I d-don't want him t-to come!" Dudley wailed. "H-he always ruins e-everything!" he shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms. Harry rolled his eyes. The doorbell rang.

"Oh lord, they're here!" Aunt Petunia went to go get the door. Dudley composed himself in record time; Harry snorted at how ridiculous he looked, rapidly wiping his eyes and face with the backs of his fat arms.

Harry caught a glimpse of Piers Polkiss by the door and cursed under his breath. He absolutely _loathed _Piers. He was a rat as much as he looked like one, and it was because of the scrawny git that Harry had gotten caught for all sorts of things. Pranks, graffiti, and the like. Most parents in the neighborhood knew of Harry's terrible reputation, and therefore saw Piers as something of a saint for tattling half the time.

The arrival of Harry's least favorite member of Dudley's gang didn't hamper his mood, however. By some serendipitous turn of events, Harry found himself in the backseat of the Dursleys' vehicle on the way to the zoo. But not before Uncle Vernon took him aside by his arm and gave him a warning.

"You're only able to leave because we _allow _you to," the man spat. "If you're not on your _best_ behavior you'll be locked in that cupboard until Christmas!"

"Whatever," Harry muttered, yanking his arm away and walking out of the front door.

He had heard the unspoken warning, as well. The one that he always got before going out.

_Don't let people see your freakishness, or you'll be in that cupboard with more than just a headache._

His _freakishness _was something that he treasured; it set him apart from the Dursleys. Strange happenings that he shrugged at and went on with his life.

He had been messing with Dudley's gang all day once, and they had chased him after school. To escape, he'd jumped over some dustbins behind the school kitchens in the hopes that they would conceal him long enough for Dudley's thugs to run past. Instead, he had ended up on _top _of the kitchens. He'd yelled at Uncle Vernon through the door of his cupboard that he must have caught the wind (and who's fault was it that he was so thin?), but he knew that it hadn't been as simple as that.

Another time, he'd turned his teacher's wig blue after she'd tried to humiliate him in front of the entire class.

He could even recall winning an art contest at school in third grade, and the windows shattering when Uncle Vernon had ripped up his certificate and took his £15 of prize money. Subconsciously rubbing his leg where his uncle had broken it in two places that night, Harry looked out of the window of the car and frowned suddenly at another strange occurrence; his ability to heal so quickly. He recalled reading somewhere that it took _way_ more than _three nights _for a broken bone to heal.

They arrived at the zoo, and it was the best morning Harry had had in the longest time. In fact, he wasn't sure he'd _ever _had a good morning in his entire life. The Dursleys had stopped at an ice cream truck and gotten Dudley and Piers two large ice creams, and the nice lady behind the counter asked for his order before they could usher them all away. To avoid suspicion, they'd bought him a cheap lemon ice pop.

It was pretty good, Harry admitted as he savored it and observed an ape that looked remarkably like Dudley. The only difference was that it wasn't blonde. He followed the Dursleys at a leisurely pace, ten feet behind them at all times. He didn't want to be seen with them, and he imagined the feelings were mutual. Everything was going great until they arrived at the reptile house.

There were all sorts of lizards and snakes behind glass barriers in the cool building. Dudley and Piers quickly located the largest snake in the place, and Dudley rapped his knuckles on the glass.

After seeing no movement, he turned to his father. "Dad, make it move."

Uncle Vernon knocked a few times on the glass. _Clink, clink, clink. _But the snake didn't wake, let alone move at all. Dudley shuffled away with Piers in his wake, muttering, "This is boring…"

Harry walked up to the glass barrier and gazed upon the snake in curiosity. "Good choice, snake. You wouldn't have wanted to deal with that wanker while you're awake," he said ruefully.

Miraculously, the snake's eyes opened, and it slithered upright and… _winked _at him. Harry stared. And then, looking around, he nodded toward it, not fully comfortable with _winking _back at it.

It pointed its head toward Dudley and Uncle Vernon, and then raised its eyes to the ceiling in a gesture that so obviously said: "I get that all the time."

"I know. It must get annoying," Harry nodded, reveling in the absurdity of having a conversation _with a snake._

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where are you from?"

The snake jabbed its tail toward a sign that read, _Boa Constrictor, Brazil._

"Ah, I see," he tilted his head to the side. "Was it nice there?"

The snake pointed to some small print below the bold lettering of the sign. _This specimen was bred in the zoo._

"So you've never been to Brazil?"

A sudden, deafening shout interrupted his pleasant conversation.

"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME LOOK AT THE SNAKE! YOU WOULD'T _BELIEVE _WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Dudley came waddling over and tried to shove Harry out of the way, but Harry shoved back.

"I was looking at it first!" he scowled, dodging to keep Dudley's fat fists away from his face.

"Outta the way, you!" Dudley sneered. Harry rolled his eyes and stepped to the side so they could both observe the snake. Dudley rapped on the glass with his knuckles, hard. The snake hissed and tossed its head from side to side in agitation at the harsh _clinking _noise.

"_Ssssstop_," it seemed to hiss. "_Sssstop._"

Harry felt a burst of indignation for his new friend. "Cut it out, Dudley, you're scaring him!"

"So?" Dudley shrugged, continuing to agitate the Brazilian snake. "At least it's doing something now."

Harry was disgusted at the display. Disgusted, and angry. "How would you like it if the snake was bothering you?" he stared intensely at his cousin, who had turned to look at him with questioning eyes. "How would you like it if it sank its fangs into your fat, stupid skull?"

Dudley's eyes now showed the first signs of fear, but other than that he retained his stubborn countenance. "_Freak_. Only a freak like you would say things like that."

Harry saw red, so he closed his eyes and breathed instead of using his fists. A scream disturbed his shaky control. His eyes snapped open to see that the glass had… it had _vanished. _

The snake that had been tossing its head previously now glared at Dudley with a fire that should have melted the pudgy boy. Harry glanced between Dudley and the snake, his eyes wide at what was about to occur. He didn't like Dudley, _despised _him even, but a small part of him- one deep, deep down- said:

"_Leave, friend. Go to Brazil. He is not worthy of your venom_."

The snake's long body swayed fluidly in indecision for a moment. It was strange; he and Dudley remained deathly silent in fear of the free snake, and there was chaos around them as people screamed and ran from the reptile house. It made Harry cringe inwardly. The snake didn't like that. Why couldn't everyone just be _quiet _for a moment?

Then, quite suddenly, the snake darted forward and lower to the flower, slithering out of its display and headed toward the door and snapping at people's running heels as it passed. The chaos increased tenfold, and the screaming seemed louder now that the snake had actually gone and Harry could clearly focus on his surroundings.

"BOY!"

Harry frowned and turned to look at his hulking, red-faced uncle stalking toward them with a murderous expression. Maybe approaching the snake at all had been a horrible decision…

Harry reflected later, in pain and the dark of his cupboard, that he had lived with the Dursleys for ten years. Ten years of misery, pain, and hardening of his persona. When he was younger, he had imagined his parents coming and taking him away from them. After he had been told that they were dead, he had clung to the hope that some other relative would come- but none did. He had been building walls ever since, knowing that no one would ever help him like he had once wanted.

Sometimes, however, strangers seemed to _know _him at least. Strange strangers they, were too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him once in a shop, and after furiously asking Harry if he knew the man, Petunia had dragged him and Dudley away and never once returned to the shop. A wild-looking woman had waved to him cheerily on the public shuttle once. A bald man in a long coat had actually shaken his hand in the bakery the other day and then walked away without saying a word. The strange thing about all of these people was that they all seemed to vanish before he could get a good look at them.

At school, Harry had no one. Mostly because the school teachers advised kids against getting close to "that no-good, destructive delinquent", and partly because Dudley and his gang scared kids away from him. It only strengthened Harry's point that there were no good people in the world- surely, at least one of his peers could stand up to Dudley and his personal group of thugs like Harry himself could? Surely, he hadn't been the _only one_ with guts in that damned school? Apparently he was.

Harry fell asleep quickly after that, dreaming of sickly green light and flying motorcycles once more.

…

Only half-true to his word, Uncle Vernon let Harry out during the summer holidays; considering he had been "locked" in before the beginning of it, it was long enough. He never took the word "locked" very seriously, because no door was ever really locked. Not if one had the correct tools. In this case, Harry broke out of his cupboard numerous times over the holidays to sneak food, because the meager portions of cold soup his Aunt delivered to him every day just flat out didn't do it for him.

It had also been a most humorous night when he'd snuck out, gotten a bowl of warm water from the kitchen, and had made Dudley wet the bed. The embarrassment that followed in the morning could not be blamed on him, because poor old Harry was "locked up" in his cupboard. He'd laughed quietly until he was almost sure a rib had cracked.

Dudley had, apparently, broken nearly all of the presents he'd gotten for his birthday. On the first ride of his new racing bike, he had bowled over Mrs. Figg as she was crossing Privet Drive on her crutches. Harry had to restrain the urge to punch his fat cousin after learning that, he had been so incensed.

"What do you have to gain, huh?" Harry had spat at Dudley. "What do you have to gain by knocking down an old lady just because she was in your way?"

Dudley had shrugged, but that had been it. Ever since the snake incident, Dudley had been almost _polite_- by Dursley standards, anyway- to Harry. He never got in his way, or punched him or even called him names. He simply stared form time to time, and would shuffle out of a room whenever Harry entered. It would have been funnier if Harry wasn't so confused and somewhat _angry _by his cousin's behavior.

But he tried not to dwell on it as he settled down at the table with the breakfast he had cooked- rather unwillingly, actually. It had taken thorough shaking and threats to get him to do _anything _for the Dursleys. The click of the mail slot and the dull flop of letters on the door mat interrupted the usual morning silence.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon.

Dudley swallowed and said, "Make Harry get it." He glanced over at Harry, who glared at him while taking a rather vicious bite of toast.

"Get the mail, Harry," said Uncle Vernon, tonelessly.

"Make the tub of lard get it," Harry growled bitterly.

"Get the mail before I _make _you get it."

Harry shoved the last of his toast in his mouth as he stood roughly and stomped out of the kitchen. He retrieved the mail, looking through it as he wasn't supposed to. His jaw dropped and he fumbled with the small stack of letters when he saw one in particular that startled him thoroughly.

It was heavy, and made of some sort of yellowish paper that was crisp around the edges. He swallowed and ran his thumb over the wax seal; a capital _H_, with a badger, a serpent, a lion, and an eagle wrapped around it elaborately. Flipping it over, he read the slanted script there in emerald ink.

_Mr. H. Potter_

_Cupboard Under The Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging,_

_Surrey_

With the shock wearing off, Harry furrowed his eyebrows. Who sent this? Was it some sort of joke? He glanced up when his uncle called for him. Warily, he stuffed the letter under the waistband of his overly-large shorts and trotted back into the kitchen.

"What were you doing?" his uncle snorted. "Searching for letter bombs?"

Harry stared at him blankly for a minute. Then, his features twisted in disgust. "Was that a joke?"

Vernon growled. Harry threw the stack of letters onto the table next to the large man and sat down at his own seat, taking out his letter and beginning to open it.

"Dad…" Dudley mumbled, looking into his porridge. "Dad, Harry's got…" he glanced over at Harry and went silent at the deathly glare he saw.

The damage was done, however, and looked up to see Harry trying to conceal his letter. "Give me _that_."

Harry dodged his uncle's grabby hand and held the letter away. "It's mine!"

The large man's face went red and he stood from his chair. He grabbed Harry by his collar and forcibly took the letter away. Harry kicked and yelled furiously, and was eventually dropped to the floor. He jumped back up in a hurry.

"Give me my letter!" Harry fumed as he punched and jabbed at his uncle's large belly. "Give it back, you son of a—"

The wind was suddenly gone from his chest, and he gasped and fell to the floor again, seeing his uncle's fist above him still poised like he was ready to punch again. The man's fat face had changed colors so fast when he saw the letter that Harry wondered hopefully if he had caught some sort of disease. The tightening in his chest prevented him from pondering it much longer, and he lay flat, concentrating on getting another breath into his system.

"Out of the kitchen!" he heard his uncle yell. "NOW!"

Harry felt himself being tugged across the floor, and struggled to get up on his own. His sock-clad feet hit the threshold of the kitchen doorway, and it slammed shut behind him. Looking up, he saw it was Dudley who had pulled him out. The pudgy boy's face was pale, and he looked a bit green. Harry found his breaths coming easier, and he roughly stood and pressed his ear to the door.

"…swore we'd never have one in the house, Petunia!" Vernon's muffled voice rasped.

"Shouldn't we at least send a letter back? Tell them we don't want..?"

There was silence. Harry was puzzled; there was practically nothing to glean from the vague words. Finally, his uncle spoke again.

"No," said Vernon. "No, we'll ignore it."

"I don't think—"

"I won't be having one in the house, that's final! We said we'd _stamp _it out of him! He's getting too rowdy… we need to properly cage him away! He's had too much freedom, and now they know where he is, where he sleeps… probably been following us… it's best to ignore it."

Harry's heart fell into his stomach at the mention of limiting his freedom. He backed away from the door slowly.

"Who would send _you _a letter?" Dudley demanded, not all that rudely. "What are they saying?"

Harry shook his head and shivered, backing away from the kitchen and then bolting for the door. He ran, and he ran, and he ran.

How dare they? They couldn't take away his freedom, no matter what they did… lock him away, he'd find a way out… limit his contact with people, but he barely had anyone to talk to anyway… his legs began to ache and his lungs were burning, so he slowed down and took a turn onto Wisteria Walk, and then stopped completely in front of the neighborhood park. His hands on his knees, he panted. What could have possibly been the intentions of the sender? Obviously, it wasn't just some practical joke from the Dursleys; for one, the Dursleys had no sense of humor. And second, they had seemed just as shocked as Harry himself that his name was on the letter.

He stood straight and walked slowly over to a swing, plopping down on the nearest one. A bench, a little ways away, was bright purple with some creation of his months previously. It reminded him of the other bench, the one with the sickly green light. A switch flipped on in his head.

Could it all be connected? The dreams, the talking snake, the mysterious happenings, the seemingly-knowing people in the street?

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek and swung absently. The Dursleys, with their new plan to keep him contained, would be furious when he got back. He exhaled heavily and gripped one of the two metal chains that held the swing in place, admitting that it wasn't the best decision to go running out like he had.

The walk home was shrouded in darkness and hot, humid air. He had stayed at the park for hours, just shuffling about and wallowing in self-pity. His shirt and bangs were sticking to his scrawny chest and sweaty forehead respectively. He walked up to the driveway and then the front door. It was locked. He cursed under his breath and went around back. He climbed up the wall extension of the drainage pipe, using the bolted holders as foot-catches, and managed to get the window of the second bedroom open. He closed it quietly looked down at the small single bed directly below the high sill.

Too tired not to, his eyelids slid shut and he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

…

Surprisingly, he woke up on his own, fully intact. Either the Dursleys hadn't found him yet, or they had decided to let him sleep in Dudley's second room. The latter seemed unlikely. Harry rolled out of bed, landing on the floor with a muffled thud. The minute ache he felt in his arm- which he had landed on carelessly- dulled in comparison to the warring curiosity and dismay within his mind. The letter seemed to be permanently burned into the undersides of his eyelids.

The door slammed open and Harry flinched and rolled under the bed.

"Boy."

The deceptive calm his uncle spoke with made Harry shudder. He glared at the large man from his safe position under the bed, but said nothing.

"You'll be staying in here from now on. Don't come out for anything except meals. Understood?"

"What if I don't want to?"

"I don't care. You will, or you'll have me to answer to. _Understood_?" his tone was more forceful now.

Harry stayed silent. His uncle left the room, taking this as confirmation. He slammed his fist against the floorboards, cursing colorfully. He wanted that letter, bad. He wanted it like he'd never wanted anything ever before. But he knew it was unattainable now.

Or, so he thought.

The letters continued to come, via the strangest of ways. It gave Harry the most wonderful feeling of delight with every hair that was pulled from his uncle's mustache, with every new vein that seemed to pop up along the man's temple, with each startled screech from his aunt that signified a new letter- or letters coming, and with every new board that was nailed in with fruitcake. On Sunday, however, Vernon seemed perfectly happy. This didn't settle well with Harry, but he had the feeling the mysterious letters weren't so easily avoided.

"No mail on Sundays," Vernon said, spreading marmalade on his toast happily. "No damn letters today…"

He hummed, about to take a bite, when the bane of his very existence caught him sharply in the back of the head. Following that, at least forty letters came flying out of the fireplace in the kitchen, pelting the walls and littering the floor. Harry jumped up to catch one, but Vernon caught him around his midsection and threw him forcibly out into the hall. Dudley was shuffled out as well, and the door slammed shut.

Harry stared at the closed door for a long moment, and then sat up on the floor in temporary defeat. Dudley plopped down on the couch and stared at him.

"Who wants to talk to you so badly?"

Harry smirked. "I don't know. But as long as they keep driving your dear daddy bonkers, they're alright with me."

Dudley frowned and opened his mouth to say something else, but the kitchen door slammed open and Vernon came popping out.

He looked completely and utterly deranged. Half of his mustache was ripped clean off of his lip, his face was the shade of a tomato, and his eyes were wild and bugging out of his fat head.

"Pack your things! We are LEAVING."

He locked the kitchen door when Aunt Petunia scurried out, and then barked his order again when nobody had moved. Harry, for once, complied readily enough. His survival instincts told him that this was not the time to rebel. Dudley didn't seem to have the same instincts; he was sent sniveling in the back seat after his father hit him 'round the head for holding them up as he tried to stuff his game system and TV into his large duffle.

The drove, and they drove, and they drove some more; none of them really knew what Vernon was looking for. He would drive to different locations; the top level of a parking garage, the middle of a field, and in the forest. At each of these stops, he would get out, shake his head, and get back in the car mumbling to himself.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley whispered to his mother.

"He already was," said Harry, when it was clear his aunt would say nothing. "But now it's much more apparent."

"Shut your mouth," Aunt Petunia snapped at him.

They didn't get stop after that until they reached a dingy, rundown motel on the edge of a large city. Harry secretly enjoyed the traveling, even if it wasn't in the best of circumstances. He'd never gone farther than a little ways away from school, and now they were traveling to entirely different cities. It was… exhilarating.

At night, Harry sat on the window sill of the small room he shared with Dudley. They boy's snores might as well have been rattling Harry's teeth; sitting and watching the cars go by was his only alternative for sleep. A lousy alternative, but one all the less. He wondered where the mysterious sender was now, and if they even knew where he was anymore.

…

In the morning, they dined on cold, tinned tomatoes and toast. Harry saved a couple of slices for the road; if Dudley was smart enough, he probably would've done the same. Maybe he'd be able to gain nutrients from his fat as time went by, like a whale. Or a camel.

They ate in silence until the manager of the motel came to their table, holding up a familiar yellowish envelope.

"Is anyone of you Mr. H. Potter? Only I've got about a hundred of these at the front desk."

"That's me," Harry threw out nonchalantly. He reached for the letter, but Vernon slapped his hand away. The manager stared.

"I'll handle this," Vernon muttered quickly, getting up and following the manager out of the breakfast area.

Soon after, Harry found himself in the car again. They were heading to… well, they still didn't know. But when Vernon drove them out to the coast and left them there, locking them in the car and disappearing into the storm around them, Harry began to seriously question his uncle's mental stability. Not that he hadn't already before, but now he was doing it _seriously_.

Fifteen minutes later, Dudley was in full howl mode. Harry scowled.

"I wanna go home!" he cried. "It's Monday! The Great Humberto's on tonight!"

Monday. Harry pondered this. If Dudley was correct- and he usually was when it came to the TV schedule- then tomorrow would be Tuesday, and therefore Harry's birthday. It was never made into such a big deal, but still—you weren't eleven everyday.

Fifteen more minutes later, Vernon finally came back. He had a long, thin brown package under one arm and an old, toothless man standing beside him. Vernon was grinning shamelessly. Harry felt uneasy.

"Come now, out of the car!" Vernon ordered cheerfully.

Aunt Petunia asked what was in the package, and was blatantly ignored. They trudged further toward the coast, the old man leading the way. They stopped at the iron-gray water's edge, where a small, rickety boat bobbed precariously. Harry backed away slowly, but Aunt Petunia grabbed his ear and pulled him toward it.

"This kind gentleman has granted us the use of his boat!" Vernon exclaimed. "Well then, come on, now! Boy, you first!"

Harry crossed his arms and shuffled nearer to the water, and carefully stepped in. While wobbly, it was as sturdy as it was going to be. Harry called faux-cheerily over his shoulder, "Now that I've tested this death trap for you, you all can come on!"

Vernon paid no mind to his sarcasm and shuffled Aunt Petunia and Dudley in before getting situated into the boat himself, making it bob and sway more violently. They sailed roughly through the storm, icy sea spray biting at their arms, legs, and faces with a viciousness that made Harry's fingers blue. If Vernon thought they would be sleeping on that boat, Harry promised himself he would be jumping off and swimming back toward the mainland.

But fortunately, that wasn't the plan. The shack on top of the rock didn't seem like that much better of an alternative, but Harry found himself not caring much where he slept anymore. The bitter cold had stiffened his limbs and was making it quite the task to climb successfully up the slippery rocks.

The shack only had two rooms. Vernon and Aunt Petunia took up residence in the only bedroom, and made Dudley the best makeshift bed on the couch in the main room using some moth-eaten blankets they'd found in a closet. Harry was given the smallest, rattiest blanket, and went to find the warmest corner he could to finally get some sleep. But only after Vernon handed out rations; a banana each and a single large bag of chips.

The lighted surface of Dudley's watch told Harry there were only five minutes 'til midnight. Harry counted down silently for the moment he would turn eleven.

_This isn't _that_ bad, _Harry thought. _Much worse things have happened._

_Four minutes_. Harry contemplated waking Dudley up for laughs.

_Three minutes_. Was that the storm rattling away at the shack like that?

_Two minutes_. No, that definitely sounded like heavy footsteps.

_One_. BOOM.

Harry sat upright in shock. Someone was knocking at the door, waiting to be let in.

…

_BOOM._

Dudley sat up with a start, mumbling, "Where's the cannon?"

Vernon came skidding out of the bedroom, brandishing a rifle in his beefy hands. At least _now_ they knew what was in that package. Aunt Petunia came scurrying in behind him.

"Who's there?" he shouted. "I'm warning you, I'm armed!"

BOOM. _CRASH_. The door came tumbling inward.

A giant of a man squeezed through the doorway. He stood at his full height, and Harry had to lean his head back to see his full profile. The giant had a wild mane of hair that covered both his head and chin, thoroughly obscuring his face. His beetle-like eyes were just visible, peeking out among all the hair. Even with the good vibes Harry got from the giant, his shoulders remained tensed.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey!"

The giant strolled over to where Dudley sat on the couch, frozen in fear.

"Budge up, yeh great lump!"

Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Vernon. The giant plopped down, and the couch sagged beneath his enormous weight. His eyes turned on Harry.

"An' here's Harry!"

Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle-like eyes were crinkled in a smile. Smiles, however, could be faked. His shoulders remained tensed.

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby!" said the giant. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes."

Harry's shoulders, if possible, got even more rigid. How did this man know him? How did this man know his parents?

From the corner, Vernon made a funny rasping noise. "I demand that you leave at once, sir! You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant. He reached behind the arm of the couch, plucked the rifle from Vernon's beefy hands, and tied it into a knot as easily as one would a piece of flimsy rubber. It landed on the floor with a metallic thud.

Vernon made a sound like a mouse being trodden on. Harry's shoulders relaxed the slightest bit, an amused grin teasing the corners of his mouth.

"Anyway—Harry," the giant turned back to him. "A very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here—I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste alrigh'."

From the inside of his large overcoat, he pulled out a slightly squashed box. Harry hesitated. This, he thought, seemed like a moment of great import. The air felt heavy. Should he take the box, it would be a sign of trust, or at least acceptance. The giant's eyes were warm, as were his mannerisms, but Harry was never one to trust so easily.

But in light of recent events… maybe it was time to take a leap of faith?

Shrugging, Harry took the box and opened it, not really knowing what to expect.

Inside, there was a large, sticky chocolate cake with _Happy Birthday Harry _written on it in green icing. Harry stared at it for a long time. Then, he looked back up at the giant. He'd never received a cake before… a lump formed in his throat, but he forced it back down stubbornly. His shoulders relaxed the rest of the way, and he offered the giant a charming grin.

"Thank you, Mr.…?"

"Rubeus Hagrid," the giant introduced amiably. "But everybody just calls me Hagrid."

Harry stuck out a hand, and Hagrid shook his whole arm.

"What about that tea then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."

He looked at the cold, empty grate of the fireplace and snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Harry felt the warmth wash over him as though he'd sunk into a hot bath.

"How did you…?" Harry murmured. Hagrid didn't hear him.

Until a certain turning point in Hagrid's visit, Harry found himself asking that question often. From the easily-bent rifle, to Hagrid's seemingly bottomless pockets, to the new pig tail Dudley was now the _proud_ owner of, to the umbrella that put it there. The questions kept piling up, and when the two answers came pouring forth, Harry found himself thinking:

_Why didn't I see this before?_

Magic explained everything! And the side tale, the one of his parents' untimely fate, simply reinforced the reasons behind his dreams, the people that seemed to know him in the street, and the scar on his head that he had previously dismissed as a remnant of the "car crash" that his parents had died in. The knowledge that he was _famous_… famous! His emotions warred within; he was famous, yes… but at what cost? He _knew, _he just knew that he was special in some way… life would never be the same, he promised himself.

Even with the horror story of his origins swirling in the recesses of his mind, Harry fell asleep satisfied with the answers he had gotten, and the letter that he should have received long ago.


End file.
